


Skin

by PansyDivision



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cliffhangers, Gen, Hallucifer, Hallucinations, Hurt, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Suicide, Oh gosh what the heck do I tag, Rape/Non-con References, Scars, Self-Harm, Worried Dean Winchester, angsty, chapter 4 is sort of gory, hurt sam is my poison, past Sam Winchester/Lucifer, sam and dean try to make it better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:26:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6463009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PansyDivision/pseuds/PansyDivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean left Sam alone at another trashy motel. That's alright with Sam, until Lucifer starts taunting him. He can handle it though, he just needs to hold out until Dean gets back. Right?</p><p>Please heed the warnings in the tags. This deals with self harm and there are mentions of past rape/non-con.</p><p>* ayy a new chapter would ya look at that *</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whew okay, so I've debated posting this for a long time now. This will be the first time I've posted any of my work publicly. I've shared it with a friend of mine though and she approves, so hopefully you guys will like it too.
> 
> WARNING: Mentions of past rape/non-con. There will be self harm in this. If those kinds of things trigger you, please don't read.

The blinds of the dusty motel room are closed. Faint light comes from a small lamp on the bedside table. Dean went out for the night, claiming he needed a break. Sam is supposed to be researching, but the incessant, cruel voice of of Lucifer is in his head.

  
So he paces the room, beer in hand. Getting drunk usually just makes anything Sam imagines more vivid and horrible, so he just drinks a couple to calm down.

  
_Oo! I just remembered this one time. You know, in Hell. You have one talented mouth, Sammy._

  
Sam clenches his jaw at the mention of him blowing Lucifer. He's always hearing that kind of shit from the inside of his head. It doesn't matter what he's doing; sleeping, hustling pool, brushing his teeth.

  
_The way you used to gag when i forced my way down your throat. Mm mm, who knew?_

  
It used to be frustrating, not being able to stop the voice. Now it's just tiring. He sighs and closes his eyes. With a small amount of hope, he digs his thumb into his hand scar.  
It seems like it actually attracts Lucifer, because at that moment he appears in front of Sam. Sam jumps, but calms quickly in an attempt to not look so surprised. The fallen angel laughs condescendingly.

  
“Oh, Sammy,” he says with over-exaggerated sympathy, as if the man is no more than a child. “You know the scar doesn't work. It breaks my little heart everytime you try.”

  
Sam turns away, setting his beer on the table. He puts his hands on his head and threads his fingers through his long hair. He's trying to keep it together, wait it out until Dean gets back. Dean's usually good at keeping him sane enough to function.

  
“Not to be rude,” Luci says, in an ironically rude tone. “But you need a haircut. I don't see how Dean can stop himself from cutting it all off while your sleeping. But then again, I don't see why he doesn't just slit your throat whenever he gets the chance.”

  
“Just. Stop,” Sam growls, whipping back around to face Lucifer.

  
“Look at yourself! Hell, look at me, Sam,” Luci laughs lowly. “You're psychotic! You're worthless to Dean! He's only keeping you so the blame isn't placed on him when you finally get yourself killed.”

  
Sam's fingers curl around the razor blade in his pocket. He's found that disposable blades are much easier than always sharpening a knife. After all, the sharpness wears down awfully quick with the way Sam's been using it.

  
Glancing at Sam's hand in his pocket, Luci fakes a sympathetic look. “Poor, butthurt, emo Sammy. I didn't mean to hurt your fragile feelings.”

  
Sam rolls up his left sleeve, revealing deep cuts, old and new, riddling his skin. He curses at it and rolls up the right one.

  
“Fresh slate?” Luci wonders out loud, leaning towards Sam to get a better look. “Ran out of room on the other wrist?”

  
Sam's ashamed that he even started slicing into himself in the first place, but it was the only way. Making new scars, that actually work, to replace the old one.

  
“It's a wonder you haven't bled out already,” Luci observes.

  
Putting the blade in his left hand, Sam drags the blade across his right wrist. Blood droplets begin to roll off of his arm. His face is scrunched up in pain. Luci is barely effected. He soaks it up with his other sleeve, so he doesn't leave anything for Dean to find.

  
“Unless that's the plan?” Luci smirks and raises an eyebrow.

  
Gasping with the shock of the pain running up his arm, he digs deeper with the next cut. This time the angel's image falters.

  
“Remember, Sam,” Luci says.  
Sam draws a third line across his bloody wrist. It almost works, but Lucifer steps a little closer.

  
“Down the street, not across the road.” Lucifer demonstrates on his own wrists, drawing lines down the middle of them with his finger.

  
“Ah!” Sam cries out in a small voice when he makes the fourth cut. The blood is almost too much to contain. He probably hit more than a couple veins. Not good.

  
Silence prompting him, he hesitantly looks up. Lucifer's nowhere to be found. His crazy is gone, at least for a while.

  
His sleeve isn't doing much in the cleaning department anymore, it's soaked with his blood. He starts walking towards the bathroom to get a shower and clean up. The room starts swaying and Sam has to balance himself on the wall.

  
“Oh no,” Sam whispers. The blood from his wrist is making his hand wet and warm. It drips onto the carpet and the first thing Sam thinks is, Dean can't see this. He's cleaned blood out of carpets before, he can do it... After he stops himself from bleeding to death.

  
Staggering, he sets his drooping eyes on the bathroom door. If he takes his hand off the wall to put pressure on the cuts he'll surely fall. But he knows he won't be able to stop it now, not by himself.  
After grabbing his phone from his back pocket, he leans against the wall and slides to the floor.

Thankfully, Dean's on speed dial. Sam clicks the 1 button and waits. Each ring sends pain through his chest. What if Dean doesn't answer? What if he ignores the call? What if he's with some girl and-

  
“Hey Sam,” Dean answers. The faint chatter of people and the clank of plates and glass bottles can be heard in the background. “I'm kind of busy here.”

  
“Dean,” he says weakly.  
His legs are pulled up to his chest, they're leaning on one another for support. Sam's hand and the phone are resting on his knees.

  
Immediately, his older brother is on red alert. “Sammy? What's wrong? Where are you?”

  
“I don't want to die, Dean. Please,” Sam chokes out.

  
“I'm coming. Where are you?” The bar noise fades out and is replaced with sounds of traffic.

  
“Motel. I'm bleeding,” Sam gasps. “A lot.”

  
A dark stain is forming on the carpet where his busted wrist is laying. Sam has seen a lot of blood, but hardly ever is that much of it his own.

  
“Okay, Sammy. Hang on, don't you dare fall asleep.”

  
“'M trying.” Sam says, struggling to hold his eyes open. He feels so damn tired. He's been on the verge of unconciousness before, he's not very good at holding it off.

  
“It's gonna be okay. I'm only a a few seconds away.”

  
God, Sam knows he's probably just up the street at that ugly biker bar. His eyes close involuntarily. For a moment, he can see stars behind his eyelids in his futile attempt to open them again.

  
“Mm,” Sam manages to get out before the phone slips from his hands.

  
“Sam? Sammy?”

  
Headlights shine through the blinds and the purring Impala stops abrubtly. Its door opens, but doesn't close. The door knob is jiggled for a moment before the door is busted open.

  
“Sam!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's what a lot of you have been waiting for! I wrote this as soon as the ideas started popping into my head. It's rushed, and definitely not as thought out as the last chapter, but I don't think it's bad.

Sam slowly blinks his eyes open. He feels like he's slept for days. The television is on, playing some stupid kid's cartoon from the 90s. The blinds of the motel room are closed and the only light comes from the cheap table lamp placed between his and Dean's bed. Dean.

He remembers everything like it had just punched him in the stomach. The blood, the panic, the desperate phone call. In a second his sleepy demeanor is wiped away and he's left with his eyes wide and hands shaking. What will Dean think of him now?

"Sammy?" The TV flicked off.

Sam flinches at his brother's voice and looks around the room for a few seconds to find that Dean's been on the opposite bed the whole time. He struggles to sit up, causing Dean sit up too, ready to pounce if his little brother needs help. He stares dumbly at Dean for a minute with his mouth hanging open.

"I," he says weakly. Clearing his throat, he tries again. "I can explain."

Dean looks dumbfounded for a second before he says lowly, "I don't know how you're gonna go about explaining why I found you half dead in a pool of your own blood, but I'm listening."

"Okay," he takes a deep breath. He's trying so desperately not to look up at his brother, his protector, the one he's let down so many times before. He's afraid of what he'll see. "The hand scar doesn't work anymore. At first I tried cutting it back open, making it hurt. That wasn't enough."

Unintentionally, he looks up, flashing Dean his signature puppy-dog eyes. He doesn't know how to make out the emotion on his brother's face. There's mostly worry and confusion, but it's contorted into something else he can't place. 

Slowly, wincing at the pain in his wrist, he pushes himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. Dean does the same, almost getting up to check on Sam, but he waves him back down.

"Sammy..." Dean says shakily.

"There wasn't another option. The first time I took a knife to my wrist, it hurt like hell. Too much like Hell apparently, because Lucifer was gone and I felt sane for a while."

"You could have told me, we could have figured something out," Dean said on the brink of yelling. But he wasn't angry at Sam, just frustrated. Why hadn't he trusted him with this?

"Oh yeah? What could we have possibly done to make him disappear?"

Sam was standing now, looking down on Dean. There were tears hanging in his eyes, but he was pissed. Okay fine, he was pissed, and hopeless, and weighted with guilt and shame. But still pissed. He let his brother down and he let himself down. He lost control and now he's in this mess.

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "But we could have tried. Nothing is worth this." He grabbed Sam's arm, turning it to reveal the rows of raised, pink scars. Sam quickly pulled it out of his hand.

"You don't know what he did to me Dean." There was silence for a minute. "He burned me, he skinned me, he ripped me apart, he-" Sam choked, "raped me."

Dean didn't know what to say. He was still sitting awkwardly at the edge of the bed. Tears sat in his eyes. Hell is, well Hell, but Sam hardly talked about it. Even with his touchy-feely personality, Dean hardly knew what was going through his baby brother's mind anymore. 

"He taunts me with it, whenever he can. I can't take it. I'll do anything to stop it."

Dean looks up, straight into the wild eyes of the boy he's supposed to protect. "Were you trying to kill yourself, Sammy?"

"God no, it was an accident."

The pacing stopped and Dean breathed a small sigh of relief. At least his baby brother was safe from himself, for now. Sam's breaths became slower and he ran his fingers through his overgrown hair. 

"I never meant to cut that deep. I don't want to die, I just want him to disappear."

Sam realized now that he wasn't in trouble, Dean wasn't angry. He just needed to explain, let him know that he had no choice. There was still a chance that he wouldn't undersand, sure, but it was smaller now in Sam's mind.

"I know you do, but this has to stop." Dean found the will to stand up, face his brother. "This-" he grabbed Sam's uninjured wrist and held it between them, "isn't right. I can't let you keep cutting yourself. I know it's bad Sammy, I know I should've been there, I should've realized sooner."

"No," Sam said firmly, not even attempting to remove his arm from Dean's grip. "It's not your fault. Besides, I can't stop, and you can't make me."

Dean was eyeing his scars. His other hand came up to trace them. He didn't bother trying to stop the couple tears that escaped, leaving cool trails on his face. How many times had Sam been alone, without Dean to help him? How many times could Dean have done something to stop this? He dropped his arm grabbed Sam's shoulders.

"Look, I know I don't say it often, but you need to know. I love you so goddamn much. To know that you're taking a razorblade to your skin and tearing it apart, is not a good feeling. Please Sammy, please tell me you'll stop. Tell me you'll come to me whenever you've got a blade to any part of you. I don't care if I'm balls deep in somebody, you can call me. Okay?"

Dean's fingers were digging into his shoulders and now they're starting to hurt. Could he really promise something like this? He couldn't, and he knew that. The only time Sam has ever lied to his brother was to protect him, but now, he's going to do it for his own selfish ass. 

"Okay," he lies through his teeth.

"Time to get clean," Dean declares. 

He lets go of Sam and reaches forward towards Sam's pants. Sam flinches back.

"What are you doing?" He says, fear just starting to creep into his voice. He trusts his brother, but any hand near his dick makes him nervous.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Dean promises. "I just want everything that's in your pockets."

"Everything?" Sam squeaks. 

"Everything," Dean confirms.

Again, Dean tries reaching forward. Sam tenses up when his hand reaches into his front pocket, but out comes three pennies and a small white box. The lid slides off in Dean's curious hands and inside are about eight new, shiny, double-sided razor blades.

"Dean?" Sam asks, though he isn't sure exactly what he's asking.

Ignoring Sam, Dean puts the box and the pennies on the nightstand and checks the rest of Sam's pockets. In the end, there's a used razorblade in Sam's other pocket, a condom (which Sam sheepishly gives a laugh at), and more useless coins. All go on the nightstand.

"Bag check!" Dean says with too much enthusiasm.

Sam tries to hide the panic that spreads across his face. He knows what he has in there, and he knows Dean was not going to like what he finds.

They look through Sam's duffle. Sam pretends to look but never pulls out anything. Dean checks every pants pocket, every shirt pocket, and then finds a box at the bottom of the bag. 

The box is wooden, carved and about 6 x 8 inches. It was something Dean had made him many, many years ago for Sam's 14th birthday. His reasoning was something along the lines of, every kid has things he likes to keep to himself especially as a teenager. It came with a lock Dean had bought and a wink that was obviously alluding to the fact that Dean thought he was going to hide his condoms in there. For a while, Sam used it for exactly that, but now it had a much darker purpose.

"Unlock it," Dean tells him simply.

Sam shakes his head. He already knew he couldn't really get out of this one, but hell, he's gonna try.

"Come on, Sam. What could possibly be in here that's going to surprise me now?" 

"It's nothing. I'll get rid of it, I promise. Just let me handle it, please," Sam practically begged. 

"If you aren't going to unlock it, I'll just cut the lock."

"Fine," he gave in through gritted teeth.

Sam stood up and walked around the bed to stand at the nightstand. Obviously worried, Dean followed. He reached for the box of razor blades, but Dean's arm bolted out and grabbed his hand.

"The key is in the bottom of the box," Sam explained. 

For a minute, Dean struggled to pull the blades out of the box before deciding to just dump them. Sure enough, the small key hid at the bottom. 

Dean had no clue what he was going to find in this box. Even his hands were shaking a little with dreadful excitement. Sam plopped onto the bed and put his head in his hands. 

"Before you open it, just please don't be angry. I don't think I can take it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwahaha, another cliffhanger. I'm a sadist, I know. 
> 
> I also know this chapter probably isn't the same quality as the last. Let me know what you think, I love contructive criticism!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this got more dramatic than i ever intended. Sorry about the wait. I might add extremely slight changes if i notice anything else. Hope you like it~

Dean has to admit, his heart's pounding through his chest by the time he has the key in the lock. He wants to stop, tell Sam that they can just burn the box and not speak of it. But he knows that won't do either of them any good.

Sam is still sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in hands. As much as he wants to go over there and comfort his little brother, he has to get this over with.

Slowly, like something might jump out of the box and bite him, he turns the key. Dean hears Sam take a forced, shaky breath when the lock clicks open. Inside, there's a bottle of sleeping pills, which is to be expected. Dean can't imagine how well they actually work though. He takes them out and places them on the bed. There are more scattered blades of different shapes and sizes. He simply makes a pile of them next to the pills. At the very bottom, lay 3 envelopes. Each were labelled with a name. They read _Dean_ , _Cas_ , and _Bobby_.

"Sammy? What are these?" Dean questions confusedly as he walks around the bed to stand in front of the almost cowering younger man. He sat down across from him.

"They're, um," Sam cleared his throat and lifted his head. It sounded as if he'd been crying, but there was no sign of it on his face. "They're suicide notes."  
  
Deans eyebrows flew up his forehead and he laughed. He silently curses himself for the outburst and his face right back to confusion, "They're- _what?_ "

"Suicide notes," Sam said more quietly.

"You planning on bailing on me, Sam?" Dean sounded more shocked than anything else. Sam guesses that's definitely not the worst reaction he could have gotten.

"No," he says, avoiding eye contact. Nervously, he pretends to be more interested in his hands. "Not yet."

More than anything, Dean wants to rip into his letter. He wants to find out what the hell is going through the kid's head. He'd like to think that nothing could surprise him anymore. That nothing Sam could say or do would put him off balance. That's not true anymore and Dean is scared. The Dean that's saved lives, saved the world from demons, destruction, and literally Hell, is scared.

He jumps up from his seat, wrapping his arms around Sam's shoulders and pulling him up so that Sam is basically on his lap. Sam's so caught off guard that he actually gasps. For a moment, he contemplates pulling away. Instead, he revels in the warmth of the embrace that's so uncharacteristic for his brother.

"I'm so sorry. I never meant for you to get dragged into this."

For about the millionth time in the past couple hours, Sam's eyes go foggy with tears.

"You don't need to be sorry," Dean said firmly. He tucked a stray hair behind Sam's ear like they were kids again, and Dean was protecting him from a spooky monster that was hiding in the closet. Only this time, there wasn't a closet to check and the monster was unreachable. "It's not your fault. I, for one, actually wish you would have dragged me into this sooner. I'm scared, Sam."  
  
And the tears begin to fall. Sam knew it was inevitable, but, God help him, he starts sobbing into Dean's chest.

The reality of the situation starts to sink into Dean. He's caused this. He couldn't just do as he was told; he had to be a stubborn, selfish asshole and shove Sam's soul back into his body. Sam was in so much pain, and all because Dean couldn't bear to live without him.

Dean has so much more to say. Sobs still wrack Sam's body, so he waits. He just closes his eyes and rubs Sammy's back.

After Sam calms down and Dean has wallowed long enough in his thoughts, Sam sits up. He frantically wipes at the wet trails on his cheeks in effort to look less manic. There are a few more awkward moments of silence before Dean decides that it's okay to speak again.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I- uh- got tears all over your shirt," he sniffles.

A smile twitches on Dean's face, but he knows that they can't avoid the subject forever. Not something like this.

"We're burning these," he says, picking up the letters to turn them over in his hands. "You won't need them."

"What? No," Sam says, grabbing the letters out of Dean's hands. "I mean, you don't know that."

Dean's brow furrows and he's about to protest, but Sam's not finished.

"Listen for a second. Lucifer isn't going away, and it's getting worse. I don't think I'll be able to live with this. The incessant singing and taunting and memories from the cage. The only reason I ever cut this deep, is because shallow cuts weren't working anymore. Think ahead Dean, it won't just be difficult for me, it will be difficult for you, difficult for Cas, difficult for Bobby. In the end, it will be better for everyone if I'm gone," Sam explains, putting the envelopes back in order.

"That's such bullshit," Dean chuckles. It doesn't last long though, he stands and raises his voice. He has to make sure that he doesn't find Sam with his brains blown out, or Sam with 60 fucking sleeping pills in his stomach, or Sam hanging from a ceiling fan. "Yes it's going to be _hard_ , Sam. Nothing we do is ever easy. If you don't think I would shove everyone and everything out of my way to keep you kicking, you're obviously wrong."

"That's the problem. You'll give up hunting, you'll ignore everything that doesn't concern me. The world doesn't revolve around me and when I'm gone, you'll have to face that."

"I will lock you in a padded room if that's what it takes to keep you safe from yourself." _Great_ , Dean thinks to himself, _I've resolved to threats._

"Okay," Sam says, not wanting to further the argument into a screaming match.

"Okay?" Deans blows all the pent up emotion out in a long sigh. "You're not killing yourself Sam, I won't let it happen."

Sam's about to roll his eyes and tell him how ridiculous that is, but Dean's already moving. First, he scoops all the blades into one hand and dumps them in the trash. Then he picks up the sleeping pills and dumps them into the toilet.

"Hey!" Sam yells from his spot on the bed.

Dean peers his head out of the bathroom, "You can't tell me honestly that they helped."

Sam just mumbles something under his breath and hears the toilet flush. Dean walks out to stand over him.

"From now on, when Lucifer won't let up, you're coming to me. Before you go anywhere by yourself, you're getting searched and that includes when you come back. You aren't carrying a gun unless we're together or on a hunt. Unless you have a damn good argument, that's how it's gonna go."

Sam just stares blankly. Anything he says is gonna fly right over Dean's head, so he just nods.

"Good. By the way, don't go digging in the trash for your blades. I'm taking out in a minute."

Dean feels like he has this somewhat under control. Although he's knows that Sam's pretty smart and this isn't going to last for long. Long enough, anyway. Little does Sam know, there are going to be a lot more precautions that he's going to be taking.

Sam's already thinking of ways to outsmart Dean when he ties up the trash bag and leaves to throw it in the dumpster. A new place to cut, a better hiding spot for the blades he'll steal from the next Wal-Mart they go to, lies to tell his brother. The emotional laps he just ran left him sleepy. The earlier blood loss probably has something to do with it too so he lays back on the bed, careful about his wrist. 

He realizes that he's still holding the envelopes. Knowing that they won't be there when he wakes up, he place them neatly on the bed next to him. If he hides them, Dean will just tear the place apart looking for them, so he opts to write new ones when he gets the chance. 

Letting out a long sigh, he closes his eyes and tries to get comfortable. _Things are about to get complicated_ , he thinks as he drifts asleep.

 _Hey Sam_ , Lucifer whispers into his ear.

Dean doesn't notice him jump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think! I've started to write another chapter, but no promises on when it'll be finished :-)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't had anybody read this chapter, so you guys will have to let me know how it is!

For days, Sam forces his way through the endless verbal torture. It only stops when he's too caught up in a bout of busy-ness for his mind to intervene. Otherwise, Lucifer is everywhere. While Sam showers, while he's trying to have a normal conversation, while he eats, while he's in bed trying to sleep. Nothing he does is alone anymore. 

Sam knows exactly what would fix the problem. A few cuts here and there, more quantity, less depth. Just to keep Dean in the dark. 

But he hasn't gotten the chance to touch a blade in the past seven days. Dean's made sure of that. His brother has been up his ass all week, not letting Sam out of his sight unless he needs to shower or take a shit, which he now has to do with the door open. He knows Dean's just trying to keep him safe, but safe is what's going to make Sam snap.

Right now they're headed to speak to a little girl. She claims to have seen the monster that they've been looking for. Even with Sam's vigorous research on the subject, this is the only lead they have. That, and 6 people with their guts scooped out like somebody was planning on making human jack-o-lanterns.

Soon they're pulling up to a little, dull pink house that needs a paint job. Dean turns the car off and doesn't move. He stares for a minute and Sam tries to pretend that he doesn't know what's coming.

"How've you been holding up?" Dean asks, hand still on the keys in the ignition. 

"Fine," Sam smiles, but it twitches and falters. "I've only got the devil singing a horrible rendition of Sweet Home Alabama in the style of modern Taylor Swift in the back seat."

"Hey, I think I'm doing pretty good!" Lucifer exclaims, leaning in front of Sam's view of Dean.

His brother sighs and pulls the keys out of the car. Dean knows this isn't going to go well. Cold turkey probably isn't the best thing in this situation.

"I know, Sam. I'm trying to keep you busy here," Dean sighs as Lucifer scoops out his eyes with a grapefruit spoon.

Trying to keep it together, Sam looks down, digging his fingernails into his palms. "I can tell, and I know you want to help, but it's just not working." 

Dean's empty eye sockets bore into him a little while longer. Both of them know this scheme is gonna fall apart soon. Neither of them know for sure what they'll do afterwards.

Finally, Dean swings open his door. When Sam meets him on the other side of the Impala, his eyes are intact. He takes a deep breath and follows his big brother to the slouching steps of the house.

They introduce themselves as the FBI and the mother lets them in. She takes them to her child's room where the little girl is sitting a table, coloring in a picture she must have drawn. She stops for a moment to look up at the brothers.

"Hi," Dean says and smiles awkwardly. "I'm Agent Smith and this is Agent Forman. Can I, uh, take a seat?"

"Hi, I'm Jemmy," she says back in a high voice. "Sure you can."

Jemmy jumps up and pulls out a small wooden stool from under her craft table. Cautiously, probably afraid of breaking the seat, Dean lowers himself onto it. Sam can't help but smile. She isn't older than 7 or 8, but she's treating them like visiting friends. For a moment, she sits back down before glancing up at Sam and pulling out another stool. When the boys are both seated, their knees are almost touching their shoulders. Lucifer appears with his own stool and sits between them.

Dean begins asking Jemmy questions, what did she see, what did it look like, did she see where it went off to. Sam tunes them out quickly. All he's focused on is the pencil sharpener at the edge of the table. It looks new, untouched. The blade glints in the afternoon light coming from the window. He knows he has to have it.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Luci taunts, leaning back on the stool. "Once again, you just have to defy Dean. This is totally gonna come to bite you in the ass. Come to think of it, you might enjoy that, Sammy."

Jemmy begins to showcase all her drawings for Dean, who doesn't seem to mind.

"You know, I wonder..." Lucifer says in a mischievous tone. 

Sam's gaze snaps from the tempting blade to Lucifer, realizing that he's probably about to pull out some sick hallucination. Boy is he right. With a snap of Lucifer's fingers, Dean's clothes from the waist up are gone. There must be hundreds of deep cuts all around his arms, his ribs, his sides, even his collarbones. On his wrists though, there are two long, deep, lethal, gaping wounds. Sam jumps and his eyes go wide with surprise. The instinct to help his brother kicks in, but he keeps quiet. He doesn't want to cause a scene here. 

Blood is dripping onto the table, onto the girl's drawings, and onto every surface blood should never be. It sprays from the deepest wrist cuts, painting the walls and scattered toys a deep red.

Sam has to get out of here. 

"These are great drawings Jemmy," Sam says, feigning interest in a drawing of a rainbow colored caterpillar. He tilts it up, grabbing the small pencil sharpener as he does. 

"Thanks!" she beams.

Droplets of Dean's blood race down the paper, so he drops it. Still, he makes sure to keep the sharpener in the palm of his hand without giving it away. 

"You okay, man?" Worry is clearly etched onto Dean's face. Sam must be shaking or something.

"'M fine. Gonna go find the bathroom."

He almost knocks the tiny stool over when he stands. Lucifer stands with him, smirking like the Devil he is.

"You like the show?" Luci says rhetorically. 

As soon as he makes it into the dim hallway, Sam lets out the breath he'd been holding. Genuinely looking for the bathroom, he peers into the first couple doors, finding a closet and another bedroom. At last he finds it. He rushes in, shutting the door in the face of a pouting Lucifer.

Never again does he want to see his brother like that. He'd love to see himself like that though, preferably soon.

While he's using his finger nail to unscrew the blade from the tiny, plastic box, he realizes he'll have to be cautious. He has to think of somewhere Dean would never see. Not his wrists, not his stomach or legs. But his hips, they could work. Even if he somehow ends up in only his underwear, they'll still be covered. 

He sighs when he finally gets the blade free, taking a moment to feel the cool metal between his fingertips. It feels good just to know he has it. Like having a friend that can always comfort him when he needs it. Something to fall back on. Now the real trick will be hiding it from Dean. 

He can already feel the shame and worry turning in his stomach. Dean will thank him in the end when this stops Sam from putting a bullet through his own skull. 

"Or maybe, after he finds out about this, he'll do it for you," Lucifer chimes in. 

He spins around, checking to see if Luci's in the bathroom with him. He almost relaxes when be doesn't see him, but the Devil's same old menacing smile appears in the bathroom mirror. 

Without a second thought, Sam shoves his jeans and boxers down to his knees. Holding the edge of the blade to his hip, he closes his eyes. There's a moment when he almost reconsiders, but he can feel Lucifer's breath on the back of his neck and it's more than enough to push him over the edge.

He digs the blade into his skin, pushing hard and quick. Just the right way to make a deep, lasting cut. Blood swells up immediately, a bead running down his leg. Before it can hit his clothes, he wipes it away with his hand. The stinging feeling feels so good compared to the anxiety filled fear he's got weighing on him most of the time. He repeats the cut a few more times until his hands and leg are red and wet.

"Sammy?" 

There's a knock at the door and Sam jumps out of his haze. He starts wiping up the blood with toilet paper and chucking it in the toilet.

"Yeah," he answers, punctuating it with a flush of the toilet. "I'll be out in a minute!" 

"Alright," Dean says hesitantly. "I'll be in the car."

Even after he hears his brother's footsteps die out, he doesn't relax. He's going to have to act like he is in front of Dean, but for now he's stuck worrying and planning. Sam can't shove the blade into his pockets and hope Dean doesn't find it; he checks his pockets every night. 

The vibrations of his phone bring him back to reality again. It's from Dean, _Get your ass out here_. Knowing Dean will bust into here if he doesn't come out, he pulls up his pants, tucking tissues in his hip so the blood doesn't soak through his jeans. Without thinking, he hides the metal in his bottom lip. The corners are poking his cheek and gums, but he'll have to deal. _Coming_ , he texts back and heads out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh another cliffhanger, I know. The next chapter is in the works, don't worry (:


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Sorry for the long wait (as always)

For the rest of the afternoon, Sam's so on edge that he flinches when Dean walks into the room. He's tried telling himself to tone it down, but it's not changing anything. Soon enough though, they've eaten an entire box of Kraft macaroni and cheese for dinner and are off to bed.

As Sam's getting ready for a shower - with the bathroom door open - Dean speaks up from where he's laying on one of the beds, "Guess what today is, Sammy?"

"The day you start brushing your teeth before bed?"

The small blade is still in his mouth, he'd been waiting all day to take it out in the shower. He thought he might be able to hide it in the crevices of the old tiles that make up the shower walls.

"No, who the hell would i be trying to impress? Anyway, it's your seventh day clean."

Sam snorts at Dean's retort, his heart skipping a beat at his last comment. Almost nothing besides the thought of Dean finding out had crossed mind since he'd cut. It terrifies him. He pokes his head through the doorframe, "Stop talking about it like it's an addiction."

Ignoring him, Dean stands up, "That means it's time for a strip search."

"A strip what? Why? Since when?" Sam asks, unable to hide the hint of guilt and nervousness in his voice. His heart pounds with anxiety. He's already down to a shirt and boxers.

"Since you decided it was a good idea to slice into yourself behind my back," he answers calmly, walking towards him.

"Fine," Sam swallows. If he plays it cool, maybe he'll get let off without him going full commando. It's a stretch, but he needs it to work.

Once they're facing each other awkwardly in the small bathroom, Dean motions for him to take his shirt off. So he does.

"Alright, spin around and then lift your arms," he orders.

Sam rolls his eyes and huffs loudly, but complies. "We done now? Or are you gonna check my dick too?" he asks his brother impatiently.

Crinkling his nose in disgust, Dean practically yells, "God, no!"

For a second, Sam relaxes, but Dean adds, "Unless, you've got something on your thighs, or your hips. Maybe your ass, I don't know how flexible you are."

Normally, Sam would roll his eyes at his big brother's smart comment. Right now he just wants to slam the bathroom door in his face and hide for the rest of eternity. But he doesn't, he can't. Hiding, or running for that matter, isn't an option. His brain supplies a list of excuses, so he picks one that aims at Dean's overprotectiveness. It's wrong and deceitful, but he'll do anything right now to not face what Dean will do if he knows that he'd cut.

"I, uh, don't really want to be..." he trails off. Sam knows what his angle is, and Dean will catch on in a moment.

"Naked?" Dean supplies cautiously, not wanting to overstep the line that just seemed to appear between them.

"Exposed," Sam says quickly, and he realizes that it's not a lie. "It's not you. I just... can't."

"Look Sam, I know what kind of shit goes down in hell. I know, I do, but this is more important," Dean states with a new tone of finality.

 _Fuck. There goes my shtick._ Sam thinks, mind already racing, desperately trying to think up a way out of this.

"I'll check you quick and then you can go back to your bubble bath, or whatever the fuck you had planned. Okay?"

Vision starting to swim, Sam resigns. He nods and looks down to where his fingers are digging into his waistband. "I'm sorry," he whispers, pushing his boxers down just far enough so all the cuts from that day were visible.

Dean only stares for a moment. After scrutinizing Sam's new wounds, he clears his throat, "How old are these?"

"Few hours," Sam admits as quietly as possible. The anxiety and effort to control himself is starting to hit him. Exhaustion is starting to take over.

"Hand it over," Dean says, sounding just as tired as Sam feels.

Sam's only confused for a second. He pulls the blade out of his mouth and drops it into Dean's outstretched hand. "I couldn't do it. You don't know what it's like, Dean."

"You're right, I don't. But I don't need to know what it's like to know this isn't the solution." He pockets the blade and kneels so his eyes are level with Sam's hip.

Sam automatically tenses up, but he doesn't look at his brother. He really fucked up, for the second time. To avoid spilling tears, he closes his eyes and digs his nails into his palms.

Noticing his attempt at self control, Dean takes note. The cuts are deep, but not nearly deep enough to be of physical concern. They're hasty, done in a last minute, time limited situation. "Today at the house?" he asks, making sure not to raise his voice.

"Yeah," Sam whispers. Daring himself to look down at his brother, he opens his eyes.

"We talked about this. You said you'd come to me." Dean looks up, catching his eye.

Sam looks away before he can drown in the disappointment that's in his eyes. As soon as Dean stands, Sam pulls up his boxers. "I couldn't," he states without offering an explanation.

"Why not?"

"This time was different. You just.. weren't an option."

Seeing that this conversation wasn't gonna be over soon, Sam made himself move and sit on the end of the nearest bed. Dean's gaze follows all of his moves. When Sam looks up, Dean is wiping his hands down his face like he does when he's thinking about how to handle a situation.

"You gonna tell me why or leave me in suspense?" Dean asks, sounding tired.

He clears his throat and feigns interest in his hands, "Lucifer, uh, sat down at the table with us. I saw this pencil sharpener on the table. I needed to have it, even before the hallucination. I can't blame this on that."

Dean moves to sit on the other bed, so he and Sam could face each other. This is important. If for any reason it seems like he isn't listening, or misses something, he couldn't forgive himself. Sam's sanity is teetering on the edge; he can't afford to miss a second of this.

"I knew he was going to pull something horrific, but I didn't know what and when he did it..." Sam trails off. Pushing the hair out of his face, he then clasps his hands together. No way he could look at Dean, but he knows he's there and knows he's listening. "You had cuts. Everywhere. Up and down your arms, on your chest. But on your wrists, there were deep gashes, spraying blood."

At this point, Dean is staring at the floor too. They both look up when he finished.

"I couldn't come to you," Sam says again, keeping eye contact.

Nodding slowly in understanding, Dean begins, "We have to come up with some other way. This isn't going to work." At least somebody finally said it. "I was doing some research, and, um, there's some other things you could do in place of actually causing damage to yourself."

"If you're gonna tell me to take a warm bath then you can stop yourself right there," Sam sighs.

"No, just hear me out," Dean insists, standing up and reaching into his pocket. Out comes a thick rubber band, which he gives a test stretch. He grabs Sam's scarred wrist and slips it onto his arm. The rubber band fits snugly on his wrist, but not too tightly.

"A cheap friendship bracelet?" Sam asks sarcastically.

"No, man. You pull it back and let it snap onto your wrist. Stings, makes some red marks, but nothing permanent."

Sam looks at it instead of Dean. For a moment, he wants it to work, but he remembers the night that he almost bled out and realizes that it won't be enough. He'll keep it anyway, for Dean.

It's silent, like one of them is waiting for the other to do something. Dean quickly clears his throat and continues. "And," he says as he turns around to walk to the ice bucket. "You can use ice."

Sam just waits, staring into the worn, crusty carpet that's starting to make him nauseous. Does he want to stop hurting himself? To a degree, yes, but these solutions seem so small and worthless. It seems like there's no real alternative. He pushes the thought out of his head before it goes somewhere much darker.

Dean pulls out a chunk of ice and brings it over to Sam. He holds it onto Sam's wrist, moving it just slightly so it doesn't stick to his skin.

"Say something, Sammy."

He looks up and knowing this probably won't do much, he says, "Sorry. Yeah, i can do that."

Dean nods, taking back the ice and chucking it under the bed. Hoping it's not too weird, he wipes the water off of Sam's cold skin, feeling every scar as he goes.

Neither of them say anything else. Sam retreats back to the bathroom where he turns the shower on as cold as it will go. He shivers under the harsh spray and he hates it, but it's what he needs. Dean lays on his bed, staring at the ceiling, knowing damn well that a rubber band cant compare to what Sam's been doing to himself. They're both at a loss, and the lack of a solution is going to bite them in the ass. Even after they're both tucked into bed and the lights are turned out, they don't sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm considering ending this in a chapter or two, so let me know if there's anything you want to see!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all i'm back with a new chapter after almost a year! it's short but i do plan to follow it up with another soon

It was only the next morning, Sam had actually gotten some sleep. However fitful it was, it was the most he'd gotten in days. He was laying there, eyes closed, listening to the birds singing when the sheets were ripped off of him. 

"Come on Sammy!" Dean said, scarily cheerful. 

"What the fuck?" 

He just squinted at his brother through heavy eyes, half scared and half curious. Not bothering to offer an answer, Dean started getting dressed at the foot of Sam's bed. When he started pulling on a pair of shorts, Sam snapped out of his sleepy haze.

"Shorts?" He scooted down to the edge of the bed. "When's the last time you wore shorts?"

"I'm not screwing around, get your ass dressed."

Now that he was awake he could tell what was going on. Dean was trying out some optimistic caregiver bullshit and Sam wasn't sure what to think. Sure, he would accept help but this was a lot to take in, especially after the night before. 

"Really, Dean?" 

"We have to start somewhere," he said, toothpaste foam almost falling out of his mouth. "This is the start. Maybe it won't do shit but we can't say we aren't trying."

Sam knew his brother wasn't gonna let this go, so he picked himself up and pulled on some old basketball shorts. Though he barely got ready otherwise, he made sure to slip on a jacket to cover his wrists.

\----------

Running was a fairly easy task for Sam. He was fit, used to running, knew how to regulate his breathing so he wasn't gasping for air, and he really did enjoy observing what was around him. Focusing on these things made no room for anything else. No room to think about Lucifer, no room to think about cutting, no room to even register that Dean was trying to get his attention.

"Sam-" he panted. "Sam, I'm dying here man."

Not noticing the complaints, he kept running. Dean stopped to plop down onto the pavement and catch his breath. Sam had run another 20 feet before he realized that his brother wasn't beside him. Panicking for a moment, he turned around to see Dean laid out like a starfish in the grass and ran back.

"Dean?" 

"I can't-" Gasp. "run anymore-" Gasp. "I'm gonna pass out-"

"What the hell? You run when we're out on cases."

"That's life," he gasped, sitting up finally to look up at Sam. "or death. I could be leisurely drinking a steaming cup of joe in front of the TV right now."

Sam just rolled his eyes and sat in front of Dean in the grass, deciding he wasn't going to turn down a break. 

"So what do you think?" Dean asked hesitantly.

This idea hadn't even come to him until early morning when he woke up and couldn't fall back asleep. Not wanting to waste time arguing with his brother, he opted to surprise him. All he did was think about what Sam was doing daily before Lucifer was in his head and remembered his morning jogs. Dean hated routine exercise like this, but knew he had to at least be there for his brother at first.

"Honestly? I think you're onto something," Sam said, and he really meant it. He could keep running like that for hours and he would, just to feel the ache of his muscles and the cool air on his skin. 

Dean smiled a cheesily prideful smile, but didn't say anything.

"You can turn back if you want. I can sweat my ass off by myself if you're gonna whine, jerk."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean scoffed and got back on his feet. He waited for Sam to follow suit before he got serious. "You promise to call if you need anything and be back before 11?"

Sam was tempted to say 'sure, mom', but he knew he needed to get Dean's trust back and now he was being offered a gateway. It's not like he planned to do anything other than run aimlessly, let alone hurt himself. "I promise. I'll be fine."

Dean bit his tongue, nodded, and watched his brother go on his way. 

\-----------

Lucifer hadn't shown himself throughout his entire run. A few intrusive thoughts had wiggled their way in, but Sam quickly shook them out. By the time he was nearing the motel, his lungs burned and his legs ached. It felt good, but he was hungry and didn't want to exhaust himself so early in the morning. Just as he was reaching to open it, the door burst open and a concerned looking Dean came out.

"Dean?" 

"What the fuck, you're late," Dean practically yelled.

Sam looked at his phone to find that it was 11:04. "Sorry man, i kinda had to guess-timate how long it would take me to get back. Why are you so wound up? It's only been four minutes."

By now he had pushed past Dean and was taking off his sweaty clothes. All he wanted to do was get under the cool spray of water and try to feel less disgusting.

"When i said 11:00 i meant like 20 minutes earlier so i didn't have to worry for so damn long!" Dean still looked angry, but Sam seemed unbothered. The lack of the reaction just fueled Dean's fire.

Half naked and carrying a pile of clothes, Sam stopped in front of Dean who had since come inside. "This was your idea and so far it's the only one that's working. Get off my back."

"Get off your back? After yesterday? Don't act like it's completely un-fucking-reasonable for me to think that you'd hurt yourself again," Dean finished finally. Visibly tense, he tried to force himself to relax.

Sam nodded. "That's fair. Just listen when i say this running thing could work out. I haven't seen him all morning."

"Good," Dean said and this time he really could relax. For the past few days he had been unbelievably worried but for Sam to have not even seen Lucifer for hours on end was something to hold onto. He knew he couldn't get too hopeful; this couldn't work all the time and Sam couldn't constantly be running, but he had to have a little hope in order to get by. "If you ever decide to go running without me, leave a note and answer your phone if i call or else i will rip through town looking for your ass."

"Fine. Do you wanna catch breakfast after i get this layer of sweat off me?" Sam knew his brother was worried and he knew this conversation needed to happen but he was getting increasingly antsy. He needed to get moving again or his thoughts would drift.

"Yeah, sure."

In the few steps it took to enter the bathroom, unwanted thoughts were already pushing their way in. They weren't in Lucifer's voice yet, but soon enough they would be. Trying not to look down at his most recent cuts, Sam turned the shower on the coldest it could go and undressed as quickly as possible to get under the spray. Shivering and trying to wash his hair, he realized it was easier to gain control of his head like this. Because his body was already preoccupied with several things, his mind could only do so much at the same time. The few thoughts that slipped in were wondering if he could pull this off; wondering if all this would be enough. For the first time in a long time, it occurred to him that it might be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it (-:

**Author's Note:**

> Give me some kudos to boost my quickly falling self esteem! Kidding, but they'd be very appreciated. c:
> 
> I'd love any constructive criticism or comments! I may make another chapter if I get a bit of feedback.


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